The Capacity for Delight

Every so often you find a phrase or quote that resonates with deep authenticity. I have found many in my reading of The Artist’s Way, but this one in particular stands out.

My grandmother knew what a painful life had taught her: success or failure, the truth of a life really has little to do with its quality. The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight. The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention.

Julia Cameron

It is seldom that an author bestows upon us both a beautiful concept: ‘The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight,’ and the means of achieving it, through the act of ‘paying attention’.

Attentive meditation

For many years now, I have been working on attentiveness both in meditation practice and in daily living. The theory that I had been struggling to master at the beginning has since flowered into understanding. What makes me happy are not the obvious things: new clothes, meals out or entertainment (though I enjoy all of these) rather it it the joy of observing life going about its business – a film reel of infinite variation. Perhaps it also explains why, despite my life going distinctly side-ways, I am more content than many who ‘have it all’.

Thinking about this yesterday, I made my morning pages an act of observation. Please forgive their roughness – it is free writing – but this is part of what a mere fifteen to twenty minutes brought:

Lovely morning, low light cloud. The salvias are little spots of frothy white in the far end of the garden. All is rich dark green after the rain, but there are wonderful splotches of colour – the red, white and pinks of the last geraniums, tiny yellow rocket flowers, a vibrant, deep red rose and our new white rose, which is thriving.

The sun has broken through and bathed the grass in golden light. H. is sitting, very attentive, waiting for our resident squirrel perhaps? The sunflower heads are now brown and forlorn, but I hope contain some nice food for the birds.

The magpies clack away to one another – they are the monarchs of the garden, cowing all the other birds. Only the large ravens threaten their reign with raiding expeditions to the table for stale biscuits and nuts.

Karen Costello-McFeat

Writing it down

Since following the requirement of writing morning (or afternoon) pages, I have had to make that my meditation practice too. And it works. Focusing on the page and summoning my thoughts requires absolute attention and once my general grumbles have been aired, there is room for something more delicious.

A dear friend, with whom I have corresponded since we were children, has perfected this technique of delight through observation and passes the gift on to me in her letters. Her pages, and there are several, are chock full of details. She might be writing from a comfy, fold-up chair inside her tent in Scotland or recalling a walk in the Yorkshire Dales or itemising the visitors – both floral and animal – to her garden. Her joy is contagious and encourages me to see what changes have occurred in my world. Because she gives a very intimate view of her life and interests in her letters, when we meet up, it is as if we’ve just left off a conversation. We know what is important in each other’s lives and not just the Instagrammable highlights.

If you find the idea of meditation daunting or too time consuming, a small journal entry can set you on the right path. Focussing on your feelings and observations with a morning cup of coffee is a wonderful way to begin the day. Look out the window. You might be surprised by what you see.

Picture this

My art teacher sends a daily text with a photo image. She is the most attentive of observers, seeing beauty in things we never pay much attention to. In addition to the lovely scenes from her walks and flowers from her garden, she has sent a number of shots of woodgrain this week and their natural grooves and swirls are gorgeous.

While planning this post, I went around my garden looking for interesting images. There were too many to include here, though I have included a sample above. My favourite has to be the quince. It is almost ripe and glows like a lightbulb. Even on dull days, its vivid yellow shines through.

Unlike so many things in life, the capacity for delight is freely available to everyone. Even in the most urban areas, there are gardens and parks containing a multitude of fascinating offerings. Our homes too can host such joys, though they tend to be more static.

Cultivating attentiveness in all our activities, from washing up to watching the rain dribble down the window panes, enables us to find interest and charm in the everyday.

Whether we note these moments with our smartphone cameras, a dedicated journal or only our mind’s eye, we will find that by nurturing the capacity for delight, our lives, no matter how difficult, will feel blessed.